


atonement

by unholyconfessions (orphan_account)



Series: salt in the wounds [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Dubcon Kissing, Episode Related, M/M, Set During 5.07 - Strange Frequencies, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 16:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4572336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/unholyconfessions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s just a small, arbitrary look that doesn’t have to mean anything, but now he’s done <em>exactly</em> what Theo wants.</p><p>[sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4559913">pray tell</a>.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	atonement

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaand it's a series. 
> 
> I'm not sure exactly where this is going, but we'll see. I'm excited! I have so much that I want to do. Hopefully this one particular muse doesn't die. I'll try to always work within the episodes to keep it as canon-related as possible, so this is also set during 'Strange Frequencies', which is the juiciest Stiles/Theo episode so far!
> 
> Unbetaed as usual. Feedback is always amazing. :-)
> 
> Happy reading!

They haven’t talked about it. 

Not for lack of opportunity, because they’ve had many. They just haven’t, yet.

Theo’s eyes linger on Stiles on more occasions than he can count, crawling under Stiles’ skin when Theo thinks he isn’t looking. Stiles can tell Theo’s about to blurt out a stupid quip or taunt between every other glance, and he’s more than a little relieved when he’s met with silence instead.

Stiles isn’t reluctant to touch the subject, there’s just no need to. They have more important things to worry about. Disappearing bodies, chimeras, Dread Doctors... you name it, it’s definitely more important than whatever that kiss was.

They’re at the clinic soon after, not a word exchanged. Stiles is still flushed, heat trapped in his chest, probably reeking of Theo and adrenaline, and Theo’s looking at him like he’s an assignment that needs finishing. Stiles is as dumbfounded as he’s thankful when Scott doesn’t seem to pick out Theo’s scent on him.

The dead body in the room is more distracting than that, most likely. Not to Stiles, no, because he’s had enough time to get acquainted with it and the lie they’re about to tell, but to Scott it has to be, because Scott _has_ to care more about the bigger picture. It defines everything that he is.

“Which one did it? The one with the cane?” asks Scott, and he looks miserable enough that guilt starts to prickle in the back of Stiles’ throat.

He looks at Theo instinctively, but doesn’t have the chance to meet Theo’s eyes before Theo offers Scott a firm, “Yeah.”

“Alright, someone’s gotta stay here with him,” Stiles says after Theo’s blatant lie, and he has no intention of spending his night chaperoning a dead body.

He feels Theo’s sigh more than he hears it; a crawling shiver around his ribs, down his spine, suffocating.

“I’ll do it,” Theo says. Stiles’ neck snaps in his direction. “It’s not like I had a big Saturday night planned.”

Someone like Theo _always_ has a big Saturday night planned. They don’t just wait for someone to die—or, in Theo’s case, kill them—so they can watch over the body. There’s gotta be an ulterior motive.

Stiles takes a careful step back but doesn’t have a chance to voice his concerns before Scott’s phone buzzes to life and he loses his train of thought.

“What is it?”

“Another one.” Scott looks at him. “Another chimera.”

He leaves with Scott without another glance in Theo’s direction, but Theo’s eyes burn holes on his back until the door slides shut behind them. 

Liam’s voice falters when they get to him. His panic is overwhelming, burning hot in his voice, and Stiles chooses to be worried about him instead, and not Theo, because it’s easier, because it’s Liam. 

So he does, for a while, not think about Theo. Except he’s Stiles and he knows better.

Ignoring the issue is effective as long as he has something—or _someone_ —else to worry about, but when he’s locked in his room later that night, lying in bed, knuckles pressed to eyes in a useless attempt to wipe the feel of Theo’s mouth from his memory, his mind does the exact opposite. 

He can’t bring himself to sleep but, in the morning, the plan to protect Hayden and lure the Dread Doctors comes along and he allows himself to think about that instead, even if just for a moment.

It’s mostly Lydia’s plan and she leaves Stiles without much to concentrate on except the fact that his designated position is with Theo, of all people, watching over Josh's body.

So there he is, hours later, stuck in a car with Theo freaking Raeken.

“So, what happens now?”

Theo stares at him as he sets up the video feed, and Stiles contemplates ignoring it and the question altogether, because small talk isn’t helping his need to punch Theo extra hard.

Short and hoping no other question follows, because it is that simple, Stiles says, “We wait.”

Sit, watch, don’t talk. 

Simple.

“You wanna take shifts watching?”

In theory.

“No, no. I want to spend some quality time with you,” Stiles says. 

It’s not sarcastic enough, if Theo’s reaction is any indication. Theo smiles. Actually smiles, eyebrows shot up and that one corner of his mouth crooked up, like he’s pleased by Stiles’ response.

(Is he, really?)

“Sounds good to me.”

Stiles frowns, has to let those four words sink in with minimum impact because he can’t let himself worry about whatever game Theo’s playing, not right now.

Theo fidgets, his hands resting on his knees as his feet tap away to a song that Stiles doesn’t know but already hates, and doesn’t say another word for hours. Stiles doesn’t complain, has no reason to, but the silence becomes loud enough to be uncomfortable. 

He’s hyperaware of Theo’s eyes on him, on his mouth, on his neck, on his hands.

“Still wondering why I haven’t said anything to Scott?”

“Maybe,” Stiles blurts out, because it’s just true enough.

He can’t look directly at Theo, doesn’t want to, but he can see Theo move in his peripheral vision, can see the way Theo’s lips curve up again before the gesture disappears into a deliberate pout.

“Still wondering why I kissed you?”

Stiles’ response doesn’t come as fast as he was hoping, to Theo’s satisfaction—if that little hitch in his breath is anything to go by, and Stiles is pretty sure it is. “No,” he says, eventually. The word sits heavy and untrue on his tongue.

Theo looks like he might be losing his patience, and as much as Stiles doesn’t want to be terrified, he is, for a thousand different reasons.

“You think I’ve got some kind of ulterior motive.”

Stiles doesn’t miss a beat, this time, “More than likely.”

“Would you believe me if I said all I want,” Theo starts, stops. He has to know what that little pause does to Stiles’ entire nervous system, how Stiles’ brain is coming up with a thousand different conclusions to that question, how it makes Stiles want to kick at something, at him. Stiles almost doesn’t want him to finish the thought. “All I’ve ever wanted,” he continues, glancing at Stiles, “is for you guys to trust me?”

Relief and disappointment hit Stiles like a home run to the face. He doesn’t know what he was expecting.

“Nope,” he fires back. 

“So you’re here because you’re never going to trust me.” Theo says, bordering on annoyed and something else entirely. “Just like we’re never going to talk about that kiss.”

“Yep.” _Don’t look at him. Don’t do it, Stiles. Don’t._ “Glad we had this talk.”

He looks at Theo, regrets it even before his brain catalogues the way Theo parts his lips or the wound up little scoff Theo throws his way, head shaking.

Theo chuckles, not entirely amused, says, “You know who you remind me of?”

“Theo, I don’t care.”

But of course, it’s not enough to make him shut up.

“My sister.” Stiles raises his eyebrows, frowns, doesn’t know _what_ to do with his face because that is just another level of creepy, even for Theo. “She was smarter than everyone too—”

“I sure hope you didn’t kiss your sister like that.”

“—and a pain in the ass like you,” Theo throws at him without missing a beat. Stiles chooses anything that isn’t Theo and his stupid facial expressions to stare at. After a moment, Theo adds, aggression fading from his voice, “But she always looked out for me.” Stiles clenches his teeth, bites hard enough to make his face hurt, and then Theo’s looking at him again as if he were daring Stiles to look back. “The same way you look out for Scott.”

And Stiles does, for some reason. It’s just a small, arbitrary look that doesn’t have to mean anything, but now he’s done exactly what Theo wants. Played right into his game.

“You know, I was the one that found her body,” Theo says, an indecipherable layer of _something_ in his tone. He pauses long enough for Stiles to be able to breathe. “She’d fallen into a creek, broken her leg.”

Now _that_ , Stiles recognizes. Those broken words that he knows so well, filled with more guilt than grief. They scrape at your throat and leave you with an unreachable itch.

“They told us she would’ve been okay if it wasn’t one of the coldest nights of the year, if it wasn’t for the hypothermia.” Theo closes his eyes for half a second, wets his lips, and Stiles follows the movement; slow, careful. “And when I found her, all I could think was that I should’ve known,” Theo says. There’s something else Stiles isn’t getting. Not guilt, not grief. Something behind that glimmer in Theo’s eyes. “That I should’ve been looking out for her.”

Stiles gives a slight shake of his head, his eyes tightening, looking for Theo’s reaction. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m telling you because even if you don’t trust me,” Theo says, moving, “and even if you don’t like me…” 

In the cramped space of his car, there’s nowhere to run, even if Stiles could move a single muscle in his body. The next time Theo parts his lips, it’s not to speak, and Stiles mimics him out of sheer stupidity, lets out a constricted breath as Theo leans over and into his personal space.

“I’m still going to be looking out for you,” Theo says, words wet and traced against Stiles’ lips.

One slow breath, a skillful swipe of Theo’s tongue, and Stiles closes his eyes, melts against his seat even as claustrophobia kicks in. He opens his mouth—muscle memory, he blames—and Theo growls deep in his throat, one hand finding the back of Stiles’ neck and pulling him close, closer, while the other rubs at the skin just beneath the hem of Stiles’ shirt.

It takes Stiles everything he has to remain still, to let Theo’s tongue explore his mouth and Theo’s fingers stroke a long path up his torso without moaning in both frustration and need.

Stiles’ entire body tenses and Theo pulls away, eyebrows brought together, stares at Stiles as Stiles opens his eyes and gets swallowed up by immediate regret.

“Stiles?” Theo says, and he’s still close enough that Stiles can almost taste his name on Theo’s mouth.

He swallows tight around his throat, hopes for some kind of divine intervention or brilliant revelation that never comes.

Instead, he retraces every step that lead to that moment right there, every spat in fourth grade, every look, every bit of doubt and resentment, every touch they shared since Theo came back, tries to pinpoint exactly when it all went haywire.

But he can’t. He can’t think, can’t figure out Theo’s endgame. There’s only Theo’s taste in his mouth and Theo’s warmth stuck to his skin.

“Stay the hell away from me,” is all he says, but his body quietly disagrees.

Theo’s frown dissolves into a blank stare. He sits back into his own personal bubble. “Fine, whatever you want.”

Stiles nods, not to reassure Theo but to recompose himself, to let his thoughts slide back into place. “This,” he says, wetting his lips as he gestures between them with a hand. “This never happened. You’re never going to talk about this, or Donovan, to anyone.” Theo’s gulp is audible, and his hunger even more. Stiles ignores it. “Promise me.”

Theo raises one eyebrow, his gaze boring onto Stiles for a second too long before he nods, averting his eyes, and says, quietly, “I promise.”

Stiles nods back and breathes out a sigh, settles back against his seat as Theo grows silent again.

But nothing lasts forever.

“You know, I saw his teeth,” Theo mentions. Stiles frowns at him, and he seems a little _too_ casual about it, his arms in a loose tangle over his chest, eyes set in the distance. After a moment, he amends, glancing up at Stiles. “Donovan. He was a, uh, wendigo, wasn’t he?”

Stiles nods, reciprocates the look. “Yeah.”

“That’s the cannibal one, right?”

Stiles presses his lips together, considers his options and chooses the one that doesn’t involve kissing Theo just to shut him up.

“Native American,” he explains. “Myth says that if you ate human flesh, your punishment was to turn into a creature that constantly craved it.”

They’re not so bad at this whole pretending business, after all.

“That’s a pretty judgmental myth,” says Theo with a grimace, tightening his arms across his chest like he’s personally offended by it.

“Well, I didn’t make it up.”

“What if it was the only way to survive?” He tilts his head in Stiles’ direction and Stiles mimics him without thinking, offers him a look. “I mean, you ever hear of the Donner party? I’m pretty sure they didn’t turn into wendigos.”

“Well, they didn’t live in Beacon Hills.”

Theo opens his mouth and closes it again, shakes his head with a defeated sigh. “Good point.” After a beat, he asks, “So, what’s the punishment for killing a chimera?” 

“You spend five hours in a car with Theo Raeken,” Stiles fires back, no hesitation. Theo gives out an awkward laugh. Stiles’ chest tightens. “Look, I know what my punishment is.” Stiles looks away, nodding to himself to make peace with the thought. “I’m gonna lose my best friend. I’m gonna lose Scott.”

(And somewhere, hidden between awkward stares and defeated sighs, Theo actually asked, _So, what’s the punishment for wanting me?_ and Stiles ignored the question, teeth digging into his cheek. _You spend five hours in a car with Theo Raeken_.)


End file.
